


Shattered Pieces

by stephrc79



Series: The Life of Bucky Barnes [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst and Feels, Fighting, M/M, OC-ish sorta but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-03-22
Packaged: 2018-03-18 19:10:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3580674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephrc79/pseuds/stephrc79
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world seems to think that Steve and Bucky are a fairytale perfect couple. But even they have the occasional fight or two.</p><p>So what happens when our beloved Bucky finds himself alone in a park, buried in guilt over an incident brought on in a moment of blind rage?</p><p>Sometimes, all it takes is the kindness of strangers.<br/>~~~~</p><p>This takes place between Images Forty and Forty-One of <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/3376088/chapters/7384379">The Life of Bucky Barnes</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Shattered Pieces

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shanology](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shanology/gifts).



> This story is for my dear mutual [shanology](http://shanology.tumblr.com). It is also the first story in what I've talked about: The Life of Bucky Barnes is going into series mode. It takes place within the world of TLBB, but it is _not_ part of the image fics. That said, if you follow along to the images on either [instagram](http://instagram.com/the_life_of_bucky_barnes/) or [tumblr](http://the-life-of-bucky-barnes.tumblr.com), than you'll know what this story is set to lead into.
> 
> Now, Shanology. You are lovely and amazing, and I hope this story finds you well. Let's just call it a 'continuation of the one before'. Loves and hugs and Happy Stuckying!

It wasn’t so much that Steve and Bucky never fought; of course they fought. It was more that they rarely fought about the Big Things _._ Not anymore, anyway. Theses days they just bickered, more than anything, truth be told.

But when it went _bad_ , well...

It was a nuclear explosion that fed the heart and soul of an apocalyptic attack.

~~~~

Bucky watched the carousel inside of its glass tomb from where he sat at the edge of Brooklyn Bridge Park — the children running in and out like it was some great game, and the only care in the world would be who got the best horse.

Bucky had never been that lucky.

Bucky would never _be_ that lucky.

He dug through his bag of popcorn, looking for a particularly buttery piece (Steve would cast a sidelong glance at him and roll his eyes over the disgustingness of _all that butter_ , and what the fuck did he know, but whatever...) and came up with one that looked drenched in the oily good stuff.

Steve could suck it. Aside from him, popcorn was one of the few things Bucky remembered truly loving when he was a kid. Seriously, _what the fuck did Steve know?_

Bucky scowled into his bag, suddenly poking at the contents like they’d personally offended him.

Why did Steve have to— couldn’t he understand that—

“Fucking _Christ!”_ Bucky exclaimed and tossed the bag of popcorn onto the sidewalk. Several people glanced over at him, some of the children coming to a halt to stare at the scary man with the metal arm throwing things around.

Like he’d thrown the sculpture into the wall not an hour earlier — a clay bust of the two of them that Steve had been working on for _weeks,_ and Bucky, in a fit of rage, had grabbed it and thrown it against the wall above the fireplace, not only destroying _it_ , but also a painting Steve had done of the two of them based on a photo they’d taken from the top of 30 Rock, with the Empire State Building in the background.

The look on Steve’s face after Bucky had done that couldn’t be described as anything less than devastated.

That’s when Bucky had walked out. Anger and guilt had been warring too much within him at the moment to be able to look at Steve. He’d needed air.

 _Weeks,_ Bucky reminded himself, as he watched the pigeons descend on the popcorn like locusts.

_And that painting had been a Phone Call Anniversary present._

_You’re a piece of shit, Barnes._

“Now, that’s not a very nice thing to say.”

Bucky’s head shot up, and he found himself looking at a young woman. She had a patient smile on her face, but Bucky could see the wariness behind her eyes.

“‘Scuse me?” he asked, her words catching up to him and irritation creeping into his voice. How much of that had he said out loud?

“Well, I just mean that —” She stopped, only to wave a hand at him. Then she took a deep breath and added, “Even if it’s about yourself, you still shouldn’t say things like that. You aren’t rude to other people. Why would you be rude to yourself?”

Bucky’s irritation instantly flared into anger. “Who the fuck asked you?” he shot back. “You don’t fucking know me.”

The girl’s face turned pink ( _just like Stevie’s_ ), and she opened her mouth to say something only to close it a moment later. She looked away and back again, as an array of emotions bled across her face — wariness gave way to concern, gave way to embarrassment, gave way to sadness.

“You’re right,” she finally murmured and lowered her head. “I’m sorry.”

She turned to go, and Bucky instantly felt bad.

“Hey, wait,” he said. He reached out a hand to stop her but pulled back at the sight of metal. Strangers hated his metal arm.

When she turned back — her expression rightfully guarded — he gave her an apologetic half-smile. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.”

She shrugged a shoulder at him. “It’s okay. I shouldn’t have butted in. You just” — she waved a hand at the popcorn — “looked sad.”

Bucky nodded, but didn’t give her an answer. They both watched for a moment as the pigeons picked their way through what had been an almost full bag of popcorn. Bucky suspected its entire contents would be gobbled up by the city birds in ridiculously short order.

“What’s your name?” he asked without looking up.

“Shannon,” she answered quietly. Something clicked in Bucky’s head and he finally turned to look at her again.

“Do I know you?” he asked.

She nodded. “Yeah. I uh...” She turned to look back to the entrance of the park. “I took your picture when you were dressed up as Batman?”

That’s when everything settled into place in Bucky’s head. He stared at her, wide-eyed, and more than a little mortified. He hadn’t recognized her _at all_ until she’d said her name, and he’d been such an _ass_ to her...

“God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t recognize you and I just —” He shook his head and cut himself off. “No, sorry, that’s not an excuse. Um....” He looked around before finally scooting over, waving at the space where he’d just been. “Do you wanna sit down?”

“Okay, sure.” She gave him a tentative smile and took the offered seat. She sat stiffly next to him, her arms clasped together between her knees. “You, uh, come here often?”

Bucky laughed. “It seems that way, doesn’t it?” He glanced back at the carousel house. “I mean, it’s not far from where I — I mean _we_ — live, so...” He took a deep breath and turned back to her. “What about you? You live nearby, too?”

She huffed out a laugh and shook her head. “Actually? No, surprisingly.” She gave Bucky a rueful grin and shrugged. “I’m not even from this state. I live out in California. I just really love New York, so I’ve made a couple trips out here in the last few months, looking to see if I want to move here, and where that’d be.”

“Wait a second.” Bucky waved a hand at her. “You said ‘a couple times’. Does that mean that _both_ times you’ve come out here, you’ve run into me?”

She shrugged again, rocking a little bit in her seat. “Looks like it.” Then she turned to him, her eyes wide. “I’m not some stalker, though, I _swear_.”

“I didn’t think you were.” Bucky smiled. “Though to be fair, I’m not all that worried if you are. I’ve seen and dealt with horrors much worse than some overzealous fan.” His brows knitted, because even that sounded rude. “Uh, not saying that you are, though.”

“I didn’t think you did.” Shannon snorted, though it sounded hollow. “But I guess you have, haven’t you?”

“Didn’t you say last time that you knew who we were? You and a friend?”

“Yeah.” Shannon nodded, then turned to smile at him. “You and the Captain are pretty famous, as I’m sure you know. Me and my friend love your story.”

“Yeah, well, our story’s not so great, you know,” he muttered under his breath. He wasn’t sure if he’d meant for her to hear it, but he was sure she had.

He looked up at her, and in that moment, for reasons he couldn’t identify, he knew his eyes were pleading with her to understand. “We’re not perfect, me and Steve. Just so you know. We’re not the fairytale love story everyone seems to think we are. I mean sure, he’s my best friend and my best guy, and there won’t ever be anyone else for me _ever_ , but we’re not this permanently happy couple that the _fucking media_ keeps trying to spin us into. We bicker and we fight, and sometimes I hate him with all the power of Hell behind me, but I —” Bucky cut himself off, a hysterical laugh slipping out, unwanted. He shook his head and looked back at her again. “I’m not sure why I’m telling you all of this. I’m not the rambling type.”

She smiled at him, and for the first time since she’d walked up, her eyes were kind and open, without a trace of pity or reticence. She just seemed concerned.

“You know, I never thought you were,” she said quietly. “I mean, you’re human. How could you be expected to be perfect?”

“We are, though. I mean, everyone expects us to be,” Bucky found himself whispering.

Her face twisted up, and Bucky could hear the self-loathing when she said, “Yeah, well, join the club.”

Bucky tucked his legs up on the bench, folding his arms across his knees so he could rest his chin. “You too, huh?”

Shannon looked out across the East River. “Too many people expect too much, and you know, they always seem to forget that they can make all the demands they want, but when push comes to shove, the only person who’s expected to get there is yourself. No road maps; no guidance. But ‘fuck you’ if what they expect isn’t what’s accomplished and ‘it’s not that hard, why aren’t you getting it done?’”

Bucky just stared at her because... yes. That was exactly it. All these people expected _so much_ from him and Steve, and every time things weren’t _perfect_ , Bucky felt like a failure.

“Steve and I had a fight,” he admitted. It felt weird telling that to a stranger, but he figured she might understand. “And I feel like I let him down. Or... Well, not just him, but _everybody_. We fought, and I feel like every single person here knows and they’re all judging me for not being better at this.”

She glanced at him then, a troubled look in her eyes. “Did I give you that impression? God, I’m so sorry, if I did. That’s not what I meant.”

“What? Oh, no, I’m sorry!” Guilt washed through him as he realized how that must have sounded. He reached out and brushed a hand against her arm. “I didn’t mean you, exactly. I just meant people. In general.”

“Do you mind me asking what the fight was about?”

Bucky huffed and reached up to rub his neck. “The Smithsonian, actually.”

She arched an eyebrow at him. “The huh?”

“The Captain America exhibition,” he clarified, taking a deep breath. “It’s heading back to the Smithsonian in DC, and Steve’s got a bug up his ass about doing a piece for it. The problem is, he _hates_ that fucking exhibition.”

Bucky dropped his feet down and rested his elbows on his knees. He looked out at the river because, dammit, his anger was flaring up all over again. He kept his voice controlled though, as he continued. “It’s his fucking life and _all that he’s lost_ on glaring display, and for some reason, that asshole thinks that doing a piece will help him find closure. Or help _me_ find closure, I don’t know. That point came up during the argument too.” He turned to look back at Shannon, her eyes fixed on him.

“The thing is, you guys — the public — don’t know what that man looks like when he’s been gutted. I do. I’ve seen it. We’ve walked that thing three times before, and do you know what look he’s got in eyes when we do?” She gave a tiny shake of her head. “The same one he had at his _ma’s funeral._ Every. Fucking. Time.”

“So why do it?” she murmured.

Bucky barked out a derisive laugh. “Because he’s a stubborn sonofabitch, that’s why.”

She took a deep breath and nodded before her eyes rested on the river again. It was a full minute before she spoke.

“Can I ask you a question?” She turned to eye him.

“Sure.”

“Could it possibly be, that maybe the reason he hates it so much is because someone _else_ has put his life on display? That maybe the reason he wants to put a piece in it is because then maybe he’ll feel like he’s contributing to his own life story the way _he_ would want?”

Bucky blinked at her, slightly dumbfounded. “I... actually never thought of it that way,” he conceded.

She gave him a knowing smile. “And is it also possible that this is a chance for him to show the world that he’s really not as dead as the exhibition makes him look? Because I saw that thing when it came to L.A. It had a very post-mortem feel to it.”

Bucky snorted. “It _really_ does, doesn’t it?”

“Oh yeah.”

They lapsed into comfortable silence for a bit after that, Bucky lost in thought over the things she’d said. If they were true, then he was an even bigger asshole than he’d originally thought.

“So, are you gonna move here?” he eventually asked, if for anything than to change the subject.

“I’d like to,” she answered with a shrug. “But that means giving up my whole life and starting over.”

“I get that,” Bucky said. He completely understood where she was coming from. “But if you _do_ decide to move here” — he turned and winked at her — “know that you definitely already have at least one friend.”

She ducked her head and smiled, and Bucky could almost laugh at the _bright pink_ she was turning ( _just like Stevie_ ). Instead, without thinking, he sat up and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. When she peeked over at him, he asked, “Is this okay? I mean, can I give you a hug?”

Instead of answering, she just turned into him, wrapping both arms around his back, pulling him in and surprising him. Strangers _never_ wanted hugs from him, unless they were little kids, and even they were usually too scared of him. But he guessed Shannon wasn’t really a stranger anymore, not really. So maybe it didn’t count.

So he wrapped his other arm around her and hugged her back. It was as they were parting, though, he saw her glance over his shoulder at something, only for him to hear half a second later, “Bucky?”

He turned around to find Steve standing a few feet away, his expression guarded and sad. He was fiddling with his fingers the way he always did when he was shy and nervous.

Bucky breathed out and smiled tentatively, not a trace of fight left in his system. “Hey, Stevie.”

Steve’s eyes turned a shade more hopeful at the nickname. He stepped closer until he was at the edge of the bench before glancing over at Shannon. “Hey, who’s your— Oh! I know you, don’t I? From Halloween?”

“He’s got a better memory than I do,” Bucky turned to her and muttered. He tapped his skull with a metal finger. “Obviously.”

“You’re horrible,” she muttered back, then turned to Steve. “Yeah, that was me.”

“Do you two know each other?” he asked, brows pulled in confusion as he glanced between her and Bucky.

“Yes and no. It’s uh...” Bucky ruffled a hand through his hair. “It’s complicated. I’ll explain later.” He reached up slowly to take Steve’s hand. “Can we talk?”

Steve breathed out what, hopefully, sounded like a sigh of relief, if his eyes were anything to go by. “Yes, please,” he said.

Bucky smiled at him and gave his hand a quick squeeze before turning back to Shannon. He wiggled his metal fingers at her. “Gimme your phone.”

She reached into her pocket and pulled it out, then unlocked it before handing it over. “Giving you my number,” Bucky explained as he typed it in. “You call me _when_ you get here, okay? You can crash on our couch if you need to.”

She laughed at him. “Okay, I will. Promise.”

He went to hand the phone to her, but held back and asked, “You’ll stay in touch?”

 _“Yes_. Now you gimme” — she reached up, and to _everyone’s_ surprise, managed to snatch her phone out of Bucky’s hand — “my phone.”

Completely shocked, Bucky burst out laughing just as she leaned in for another hug. As she got up to leave, Steve walked over and pulled her into a hug with an, “Any friend of Bucky’s...” by way of explanation.

Sure enough, she blushed again, hard, before waving at them and making a hasty retreat. Once she was gone, Steve went and sat down next to Bucky.

They watched each other for a solid minute, only to immediately started talking over each other.

“I’m so sorry, Stevie.”

“No, _I’m_ sorry, Buck.”

“Why are _you_ sorry? I’m the shit who broke your sculpture _and_ an anniversary present.”

“You were mad and had every right to be.”

“I had _no_ right to act like that.”

“You were just worried about —”

“You should do the piece —”

“I’m not gonna do the piece. I think you were— what?”

Bucky cupped Steve’s face in his hands and pulled him in for a kiss — a little messy and a little desperate. When he pulled back, he said, “Do the piece, baby. I didn’t get it before, but I get it now. You need this. And you should do it.”

“Bucky, you were so _upset..._ ” Steve pressed their foreheads together and wrapped his fingers around Bucky’s nape. “The last time you broke something, you were in pain, and I won’t— I _can’t_ be the cause of that.”

“Well, like I said, I didn’t get it.” He leaned in to kiss Steve again. “But I get it now. That _exhibition”_ — he said the word like it was dirty — “is about you, but you had no say in it. So you gotta do this for you, okay? Do it for us. Time to stop letting other people write our lives.”

“Take back what’s rightfully ours.”

“Show the world that no one knows us except us.”

“Show the world that no one _owns_ us except us.”

Bucky exhaled a smile. “Exactly.”

Steve kissed him and stroked his head softly. Then he leaned back a bit and looked Bucky over. “You okay now, baby? Ready to go home?”

Bucky nodded, and if his eyes were still a little sad at the mess he was about to go home to, well, he wasn’t going to let Steve know that.

It seemed he didn’t have to, though. Not when Steve added, “I cleaned everything up.”

Bucky opened his mouth to apologize again, but Steve cut him off with a shake of his head. “No, you don’t,” he said. “They’re just things, and besides, the painting is actually fixable.” He let out a hollow laugh. “You’ve got quite the arm on you, but while the sculpture was damn near dust, and you _did_ knock the painting off the wall and ruined the frame, there’s actually only a single tear in the canvas itself. I can mend that.”

“Are you sure?” Bucky asked, and he hadn't missed how small his voice had become.

Steve smiled at him. “As long as we’re not broken, everything else is fixable.”

“We’re not broken,” he said quickly as a shot of terror tore through him. “Right?”

Steve pulled him into a hug, tight and reassuring. Then he whispered into Bucky’s ear, “The end of the line, remember?”

Bucky closed his eyes and smiled in relief as he gripped Steve back. “And everything that comes after.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come play with me on tumblr at [stephrc79](http://www.stephrc79.tumblr.com/).
> 
> I promise I don't bite. Well, not unless you ask nicely.  
> 


End file.
